


The Universe In A Tapestry Of Light

by Zayrastriel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Stargazing, somewhere in season 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-23
Updated: 2012-07-23
Packaged: 2017-11-10 13:38:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/466916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zayrastriel/pseuds/Zayrastriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel and Dean sit on the hood of the Impala, staring at the stars as Sam snores softly, and talking about just what makes humanity so awesome.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Universe In A Tapestry Of Light

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure if I got Dean quite in-character but yes :3 A piece of vaguely angsty, introspective fluff (not angsty enough to be fluffy angst though, which is nice) Enjoy!

It’s got to be at least eleven by now, and Dean supposes that if they wake Sammy up (poor baby, he thinks, and with only the smallest bit of mockery because Sam got beat up _bad_ today, and Cas can mojo the shit out of his body but it doesn’t change the fact that Sam fell asleep in the front passenger seat before Dean even turned off the ignition), and leave now, they might be able to find a motel for the night.  Hell, they could probably get Cas to whisk them into somewhere and come back for the Impala in the morning – though he dismisses that thought almost immediately as frickin’ stupid – like he’s gonna leave his baby anywhere like that.

But this reminds him of nothing so much as the times when he, Dad and Sammy used to travel together, way back before Sam started getting snippy about staying in one school for more than a week and actually _wanted_ to do homework.

(He loved the kid to bits, still loves him more than anything, but that boy was _geek_ personified.)

When they used to stay out here on a warm night, one like tonight where even looking at his shirt makes him feel disgusting and sweaty, and not talk about demons or spirits or hunts.

He’s not used to silence, hasn’t been maybe ever and definitely not since Hell where _silence_ was inevitably followed by something worse, some new way to tear him up a new one but – _not thinking about that, not thinking about Hell, not tonight_ ; not tonight when the stars are distant and close and fucking awesome.

Normally, Dean would be saying something; anything, maybe talking about whatever non-existent plan they’ve got to smite Lucifer, or find God, or just nuke Heaven and Hell and be done with the whole mess.  And if he wasn’t speaking, he’d be reaching over to Castiel, pulling the angel into a kiss (feeling the skin melt in an instant from stone-cold to soft and yielding under his hands, quickly but not quickly enough for him to forget that he’s fucking an angel, and Cas might be fallen or rebelled or whatever but he still can’t help but feel like he only ever ruins everything, taints whatever he touches with the filthy taint of Hell.)

The thoughts flicker through Dean’s mind, slow and calm and somehow there but _not_.  He hears them, feels guilt try to swell, but something in the stars, glimmering points of light against black velvet, smooth the raw emotion away into something he can dismiss.  Not repress, which is what Dean’s good at, but simply brush away lightly.

 _Another time_.

~

Eventually, Dean rouses himself from whatever hypnosis gazing upwards has cast on him.  Almost immediately, his eyes flicker across to Cas, who’s frowning slightly as he stares at the stars.

“You know, I haven’t done this in ages,” Dean says softly.  “It’s pretty goddamn beautiful, isn’t it?”

“It is pleasant,” is all he offers in his usual quiet, gravelly tone with that touch of confusion, as though he’s translating Dean’s words through three languages and coming up with something that’s grammatically correct but totally unfeasible as an actual thing that people say.

Or maybe he actually thinks this is pleasant. It’s hard to tell with Cas; but as he shifts slightly closer to the angel, he sees that frown deepen, the way it always does when Castiel is working through something in that immense, vague brain (do angels have _brains_ , the same way humans do?) of his.

He waits patiently, till finally, Cas admits slowly, “I do not understand the particular appeal of this.  All of my Father’s creations are beautiful, and yet humans take particular interest in this…stargazing.”  He sounds the syllables out slowly and dubiously.

It’s Dean’s turn to shrug, to turn his gaze back to the sky.  “It’s just…it’s so big, you know?” he tries.  “The whole thing, the whole universe.  Sam did an astronomy project, back in grade school, and he kept going on about how old the stars are.  I mean, compared to that…we’re nothing.”  Dean glances quickly at Castiel, and amends the statement to “well, humans are, anyway.”  He exhales heavily.  “It’s scary, yeah, but kinda awesome.  I mean, it’s not like I’ve ever been the type to write, or compose music or whatever, but I can see why people get inspired by this.”

“Hmm,” is Castiel’s response, a barely audible hum.

“You probably think it’s pathetic,” Dean mutters, shrugging again.  “The whole taking something like that and making it all flowers and sunshine-“

“No,” Cas says softly.  “It…”

He stops, bites his perpetually chapped lips (and seriously, what is up with that?  Not that it matters, because somehow they’re always the right combination of rough and soft against Dean’s, but you’d think that angelic healing powers included skin moisturising), and then continues, almost carefully.  “It…helps me understand.”

“Understand what?”

“Why…why those who Fell did so,” he sighs.  “Suriel, Crariel, Anael-“

“What about Anna?”

“Anael,” Castiel repeats, a touch of amusement in his voice and probably glimmering in his eyes, though they’re still pointed at the stars.  “When we Fall, when we lose our Grace – our true names change with us.”

Oh right – the ‘-el’ thing – not particularly wanted, he supposes, by an angel who’s turned his (or, in Anna’s case, _her_ ) back on God.  He’d ask Cas whether his true name’s changed too, but dismisses that as at the very least a level of insensitivity that’s too much even for him.

“What do you mean,” he asks instead, “it helps you understand?”

There’s another pause, the processing type (complete with frown.)  “You… _imagine_.  It’s not something that angels are truly capable of.  The archangels, perhaps – but not in the same way.  Perhaps with battle plans, or architecture, or magic; but you humans, you…”

His head moves quickly, eyes meeting Dean’s in the moonlight, and Dean is conscious of the fact that they’re sitting extremely close; closer than is normal for platonic, and even for angels with no concept of personal space.

They’re never this close unless it’s going to turn into something else, unless someone’s going to be taking their clothes off soon.  And Dean might not be the best at reading moods, but he can tell that Cas probably isn’t thinking about sex right now.

(Shame, too, because the intensity in the angel’s piercing blue eyes, too vivid to be entirely human, is more than a little hot.)

“We?” he prompts after a while of Cas looking at him, of Dean shifting uncomfortably and trying not to think about being turned on.

Castiel blinks, turns his head away slightly before looking back at Dean.  “I look at the stars and I see giant balls of hydrogen and helium, a nuclear reactor turning element to element.  I see molecular conversion.  I see black holes sucking in energy and light, and electromagnetic radiation from pulsars.  But you – you see hope, you see faith, you see despair.  Religion, love, imagination, inspiration.  That is how we are different, angels and humans.  Perhaps that is why we envy you, why Lucifer wishes so much to destroy you.  You see what we never will.”

There’s an ancient sorrow in Castiel’s words, mirrored in his gaze, and Dean moves forwards without knowing why, crushing into the angel with a raw desperation that has nothing to do with lust and everything to do with _closeness_.  Because Dean _does_ understand, understands that intimacy is foreign to angels, alien to them (and Cas has been letting Dean fuck him, been doing his fair share of topping too, but it still takes him a long few moments before he relaxes in Dean’s embrace, before his arms come around Dean and his mouth opens under Dean’s lips.)  He understands that a multitude of siblings means nothing when half of them probably don’t even know Cas’s name.

Maybe this _is_ why Lucifer hates humanity; Dean entertains briefly, as he’s unbuttoning Cas’s shirt, the idle notion that a hug might be the thing Lucifer needs to stop him from going all apocalyptic on the planet.

But Lucifer’s lost now, and sort of a douchebag anyway.  Dean’s got his own angel to worry about, serious and perpetually confused and earnest and loving and _perfect_.

**Author's Note:**

> Was going to add '"Dean? Cas? What- _oh my God my eyes!_ "' once I realised that they're having sex. On a car that Sam's sleeping in. But whatever, I'm sure Cas dealt with that if it happened.


End file.
